Scarves
by ijustwanttobeabritishman
Summary: On a hot summer's day, John follows Sherlock to a crime scene with a scarf on. It's sweltering. John is embarrassed, Sherlock is amused, and Lestrade is oblivious.


The day was sweltering. John was sweating under the blasted scarf he was wearing, occasionally glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock only raised an eyebrow. _The bloody git, he knows exactly-_

"John?" John turned to see Lestrade, who was rolling up his sleeves, looking at him curiously. "Why d'you have a scarf on? It's bloody hot out." John drew in a short breath and flickered his eyes over to Sherlock, then back to Lestrade.

Sherlock snorted.

"Hold on," Lestrade said. "Sherlock, that's _your _scarf. What's he doing wearing your scarf?"

"I lent it to him," Sherlock replied coolly.

"But it's _boiling-_"

"That's none of your concern, Lestrade," Sherlock drawled, looking amusedly over at John, who scowled into the scarf, still sweating. "Now, are you going to show me those bodies or not? I'm on a tight schedule, you know."

"But you said-"

"_Lestrade._"

Lestrade sighed, rolling his eyes and deciding to ignore the odd behavior of the two men for the time being. "All right then, they're just in this house. I'll warn you, though; it's a bit hotter inside…" He was silenced by an impatient glare from Sherlock. "Whatever, suit yourself…" He led them under the line of police tape and into the house.

It was _excruciating. _The windows were closed and fogged up from the heat; the furnaces were on full blast. John gulped, but followed the other two men through the house.

"Oh, and one other thing," Lestrade called from down the hall. "Watch out for hooks on the walls, they're everywhere."

In two seconds flat, there was a loud "_Oof!_" accompanied by a _CRASH._

"John!" Sherlock jogged back down the hallway; John had fallen behind due to exhaustion. "Are you all right?"

John was lying on the floor, the scarf dangling from a large silver coat (or hat) hook on the wall. "Mmngh… Sherlock?" he mumbled, then propped himself up on his hands.

"John, are you hurt?" Sherlock began inspecting John's arms.

"I'm _fine. _I just fell, that's all."

"Bloody hell! Look at his neck!" Lestrade's eyes widened and he bent down to examine John's neck, which was full of purple bruises. "John, were you strangled?"

"Uh…" John was at a loss for words, He looked over at Sherlock for help, but the other man just shrugged. "Not exactly."

"What happened, then? Do you need anything for those?" Lestrade was examining the blotches, concerned.

"…"

Sherlock sighed. "If you _must _know, Inspector…" He rolled his eyes. "_I _happened."

Lestrade blinked. "…what?"

"_Sherlock!_" John hissed. Sherlock shrugged.

"What? It was going to come out some day. We couldn't have hid it forever."

"Hid… hid what? 'We'?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"Nothing," John said quickly.

"_John,_" Sherlock groaned, exasperated.

"Will somebody bloody _explain what the hell is going on?_" Lestrade bellowed. Sherlock and John fell silent. Lestrade frowned at the two of them. John sighed and put his head in his hands; Sherlock put his hands together and stared at the Detective Inspector, waiting.

John's neck was full of bruises. John was embarrassed. Sherlock had said that _he _had caused them. But Sherlock wouldn't hit John… would he? No, he wouldn't. So how else could those bruises have gotten onto John's neck if it wasn't-

_Oh. _

Lestrade let out a small garbled noise and looked between the both of them, slightly horrified.

"Ah! Knew you'd get there eventually." Sherlock smiled, pulling John up by the arm.

"Bloody… scarf…" John murmured, eyes closed and leaning all of his weight on Sherlock's chest.

"You- you-" Lestrade spluttered.

"Yes. We are. Now may we leave? John needs-"

"You _made him wear a scarf?_" Lestrade yelled. Sherlock looked confused.

"It was _his _idea," Sherlock said reproachfully.

"That's not the point! You let him wear a scarf in this weather; I don't know what's wrong with you. Look, I'll go and get some water. For _heaven's sake…_"

And he rushed out of the hallway slamming the door behind him. Sherlock blinked.

"Well…" he began.

John sneezed.

"Bless you. Well, now that Lestrade's gone…" Sherlock smirked.

"_No. _It's too bloody hot in this damn house; at least drag me into an alley or something first," John groaned.

"No."

He looked up, confused, before Sherlock slammed his lips onto John's. John sighed in exasperation and pulled Sherlock closer.

There was the sound of approaching footsteps, a door being opened-

"Oh, _Jesus._"

The door slammed and the footsteps hurried away.


End file.
